


Of Tragedy, Triumph, & Virginity

by KariAnn1222



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, Post - Deathly Hallows, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariAnn1222/pseuds/KariAnn1222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE! Not another Romione Post-Battle first-time fic! Ron/Hermione with a heavy dose of Harry/Ginny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Tragedy, Triumph, & Virginity

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this little Ron/Hermione first-time piece after seeing Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 for the first time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise and am making no money from writing this. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Warnings: Not intended for the kiddies. Read at your own risk.

_Of Tragedy, Triumph, and Virginity_

oOo

The downpour rapped a steady tattoo on the windowpane, the sound oddly serving to soothe her nerves and the unrelenting ache in her heart, an ache that had not gone away since that day three weeks ago when the world as they knew it had come to an end.

Hermione Granger was aware that she should have been contented, or, at the very least,  _relieved_. After all, Voldemort was dead and gone, and he would never again be able to murder, torture, or ruin another life or destroy another family, and much of the world would continue on as it had before, uninterrupted, oblivious to the fact that such a threat to humankind had ever been. Yet the evidence that he'd existed was everywhere Hermione went: It was in the faces of the family and friends of all of those he'd destroyed, all the families he'd torn apart. Fred Weasley, Remus and Tonks, Severus Snape, Colin Creevey, and countless others who'd perished that night had been in the ground for barely two weeks.

In the back of her mind, she was aware that there would come a time when she would experience happiness without the accompanying guilt. It would feel all right to smile again, to even celebrate his destruction and a new era free from repression for all, but for now it felt wrong— _so very wrong_ —to smile when Fred would never smile again. When little Teddy would grow up never knowing the parents that had sacrificed their lives so that he could live in a world free from oppression.

"Hey, you," an achingly familiar, dear voice rumbled behind her, piercing into her thoughts.

Just before she turned to him, she couldn't stop the small smile that, in spite of herself, broke across her face at the sound of his voice; Hermione bit her lower lip as she briefly recalled all of the kisses they'd shared in the last weeks, all of the loving, explorative, passionate caresses. She experienced that now-familiar pang of guilt that they could find joy and pleasure in each other in the aftermath of tragedy, despite the associated triumph, but it had, nevertheless, helped them both to heal. They needed each other and had found immeasurable comfort in one another.

"Hi," she said, turning, finally, to face him:

Ron Weasley, the boy she'd loved since girlhood, stood framed in the doorway of her childhood bedroom. Observing his long and lean frame, and his chest and shoulders that were notably broader than they had been a year or so ago, Hermione experienced a considerable amount of amazement that after seven years of knowing him so well that he somehow retained the ability to make her heart stutter. But then, she supposed her recent intimate, undeniably erotic encounters with Ron could be, in fact, partially responsible for said stuttering and the warming sensation that rose to her cheeks and flooded the region between her legs. Okay, perhaps more than  _partially_.

Physical intimacy, as well as the emotional brand, was all so new and exciting and enthralling to her, and she and Ron had taken advantage of stolen moments from the madding crowd to learn each other thoroughly, both emotionally and otherwise, discovering how to torment the other with delight and pleasure…

Not that they had actually yet made love, mind you. In truth, Hermione had spent a lot of time the past week considering what, exactly, they were waiting for. Was it merely social taboos that had prevented them from giving in to what they both so clearly desired? A longing for something pure, or, perhaps plain, old-fashioned chivalry on Ron's part?

Whatever the reasoning, it was unquestionably flawed, and she had every intention of remedying that. After all, the war had taught them that there were no certainties in life except death; it had ripped away their innocence, propelling them all into adulthood—perhaps, admittedly, at a tender, premature age—and, as such, it was time to leave all childish things behind. Including virginity. She had no use for it any longer, and she would not overanalyze its significance.

"Ready to go?" Ron asked her gently, breaking into her thoughts again as a lopsided smile formed on his familiar face. He had a rucksack slung over one shoulder, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket as he leaned casually against the doorframe, his long legs crossed at the ankles.

They'd spent the day preparing the Granger residence, restoring it to its former glory—the Death Eaters had, unsurprisingly, come to call—in preparation for her parents' imminent homecoming. They'd worked in silence for most of the day, breaking for lunch several hours previously. They'd been all business, working diligently, the mood rather somber as Hermione both anticipated and dreaded her reunion with her mum and dad.

She and Ron had planned on grabbing a quick Muggle dinner of fish and chips before Disapparating together to the London International Apparition Travel Platform, and that's where the first leg of their journey to retrieve her parents was to begin. At least, that's the story she had given Ron's parents, and that's what Ron himself believed. However, Hermione had no intention of leaving her family's home on this night.

"Not quite yet," she replied as Ron moved into the room, allowing his rucksack to drop to the floor as he sat next to her on her twin-size bed covered with the pink flower-embroidered duvet that her grandmother had sewn for her. She watched his eyes flash about the room briefly in curiosity—she was struck by the fact that, before today, he'd never been in her bedroom once, but that she'd been in  _his_ countless times over the years—her face flushing at the girlishness of it.

She wondered if he'd expected her room to be more…conservative. The truth was, though, that save for the framed, moving photograph of her, Ron, and Harry taken in fifth year, the spell books stacked neatly and orderly on every available surface, and the streamers in Gryffindor gold and scarlet on her vanity mirror, her bedroom had changed very little since she was ten years old. After all, she'd spent all year every year at Hogwarts since, and more than one Christmas and summer holiday at the Burrow. Hermione regretted now that she hadn't spent more time with her own parents, that she'd allowed herself to become so fully disconnected from her Muggle heritage.

She had every intention of making up for lost time, just as soon as they'd forgiven her for uprooting them from their home, their careers, their very lives without their knowledge or consent.

 _If_ they forgave her. She wasn't sure how she was going to make them understand that what she'd done had been for their own protection.

"It's going to be fine," Ron said reassuringly, the heat of one large palm settling on her thigh, warming her through her jeans as he squeezed gently. Immediately, memories of his hands on other, more intimate parts of her anatomy were elicited, causing her to shiver in remembered delight.

"You can't know that."

"Hermione, they'd be dead if you hadn't done it. They'll  _have_  to understand," he insisted firmly. "We'll find a way to make them understand. I promise you that."

She sighed, wanting to believe him as she looked up into those beloved cerulean eyes. "I lied to you, Ron."

He looked taken slightly aback by her words, his eyes widening somewhat. "What—what about?"

"We're not going to Australia. I mean, we are—just not tonight."

When he appeared confused, she leaned in and kissed him, brushing her lips across his oh-so-tenderly as she wrapped one arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It felt so good to finally,  _finally_  be able to kiss him when she so desired, after spending years believing that the feelings she had for him were unrequited.

He seemed more than a bit baffled, but he reciprocated nonetheless, responding almost immediately by deepening the kiss eagerly: He parted his lips, seeking her tongue, probing, exploring. He tasted like spearmint toothpaste and something distinctly, well,  _Ron_ , and his lips were full, demanding as he nipped her lower lip, eliciting a swell of heated desire that bloomed low in her womb.

The kiss became more frenzied still, blossoming into full-on passion as her hands sought the smooth, surprisingly soft flesh of his chest and stomach beneath his t-shirt, dipping lower and brushing over the straining fabric of his trousers, the physical evidence that he desired her as much as she desired him. When she cupped him, experiencing a thrill of delight, he broke apart, gasping for air.

"Hermione, what's going on?" he asked her breathlessly, stilling her hand, very clearly trying to take control of his hormones.

She straightened, attempting to catch her own breath as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "I wanted…to have some time alone with you before we left," she finally confessed, not quite meeting his eyes. "Just a day or so, me and you, without your family. I love them, you know that, but sometimes it can be a bit overwhelming."

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" he asked, his face breaking into another lopsided grin. "You think I'd have protested some alone-time with my girlfriend before going off on another mission?"

She warmed again, feeling ridiculously pleased by his referring to her as his girlfriend. "I just…" She felt herself blushing mightily as she bit her lower lip. "I thought that if I stated it to you in an obvious way that I would…come off as…overeager…"

He stared at her for a moment in perplexity before comprehension dawned in his eyes: "Obvious as in…you want to…?" His ears turned as scarlet as the streamers on her mirror, and he gulped audibly.

Desiring to end the awkwardness before she lost her nerve completely, Hermione stood up and began to slowly undress. Her eyes never left his enraptured face as she peeled off her blouse and jeans with trembling hands, kicking them aside, and was left standing before him in black lace knickers and a matching bra. Silently, she applauded herself on her decision to do away with the white cotton sets that screamed of innocence, which was an unnecessary deception: She was no longer an innocent, and she had no aspiration to appear that way.

"Holy hell," Ron groaned, his voice strained as he stared unabashedly at her body.

She was aware of the familiar blush creeping up her neck and chest, but she ignored her own shyness as she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, allowing it to flutter to the carpet. She watched him watching her, concurrently embarrassed and aroused by the captivated expression on his face and his labored breathing as he stared at the swell of her breasts. Next, her face positively burning, she shimmied out of her knickers, trying to look sexy but feeling exceedingly awkward. However, Ron didn't seem to notice as he licked his lips while rubbing himself absently through his trousers with one hand, the other fisted in her grandmother's quilt.

"I—I want this, Ron," she said in a shaky voice. "Right here, right now. This room…it represents the little girl, the child that I was, but I'm not that little girl anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, I noticed," he agreed breathlessly as she sashayed toward him, stepping between his knees. "Are—are you sure you want this now? I mean, I don't want you to do anything you might regret, sweetheart. We can take it slow, if you want…" Contrary to his words, his body and eyes were screaming  _hell-yeah-shag-me-now-sweetheart_.

Hermione experienced a swell of adoration for him that he would put her above his own needs, especially when he clearly wanted it. However, now wasn't the time for gallantry.

"Our innocence is already gone," she breathed. "What reason do we have for waiting? For putting off the inevitable? I'm  _so tired_ of living strictly by logic and reason and control. I want to  _lose_  control, Ron…to do something because I simply  _want_  to do it, and I want it with you. There's no one else I've ever wanted."

"Not even ol' Vicky?" He clearly made an effort to appear lighthearted, but a hint of the old insecurity showed through his humor.

She smiled reassuringly as she took his hand and drew it between her thighs, desiring to quell any residual doubts he might retain once and for all. "Vicky who? Viktor  _Krum_?" she said with an attempt at a derisive scoff. "He never did this to me," she whispered shakily as he touched her slickness there. "Only  _you_  arouse me so, Ron. It's always been you. It's only for you."

"R-really?" he stammered with a hard swallow, sliding his long fingers through her slippery folds, seeking her bundle of sensitized nerves as she parted her legs wider, allowing him access.

"Always the tone of surprise," she whispered, her eyes falling shut in ecstasy as his index finger penetrated her, sliding in to the knuckle while his thumb continued to work her clitoris. His other hand slid its way up past her ribcage, cupping and kneading her breasts, teasing her peaks.

She was aware that, unlike her, Ron was not a virgin. She had suspected as much—after all, his brief but hot-and-heavy relationship with Lavender Brown had been a very public affair—but he'd confessed to Hermione the truth not long after they'd shared their first kiss. He'd been repentant and apologetic, expressing his desire to put everything out in the open and to base their newfound relationship on honesty and trust.

While she couldn't pretend that the confirmation hadn't stung—an admittedly childish part of her felt as if she'd been robbed of this major "first" with him—what he had or had not done with Lavender Brown was irrelevant now. It was in the past, and Ron had grown insurmountably in the last year: That's what war and the loss of a brother had done for Ron Weasley, if nothing else. Like everyone, he'd been forced to grow up.

Her thoughts were washed away in the next instant when he inserted a second finger inside her body, plunging rapidly while her hands came down reflexively, gripping his shoulders. "Now, Ron,  _please_ ," she moaned, and that's all the encouragement he required.

Pulling his fingers from her slickness, his hands were suddenly on her hips, pulling her down on top of the duvet. His shirt came off in the next instant, and she helped him out of his trousers and underwear, pushing them off of his hips before gripping his hot, velvety length in both hands, pumping firmly. Ron whimpered into her neck where he hovered over her, one knee applying gentle pressure to her needy center as his clumsy hands found her breasts once more, driving her mad with wanton, unadulterated lust.

"Don't be gentle, Ron," she breathed as he positioned himself between her trembling, splayed thighs, swooping down simultaneously and sucking one hardened nub between his lips. "I don't want you to treat me like I'm a porcelain doll. Don't hold anything back: Make love to me exactly how you've always wanted."

"Don't wanna hurt you, Hermione," he groaned, obviously barely holding himself back from slipping inside her as she felt his heat nudging eagerly against her own; she arched against him instinctively, desperately wanting that contact, that primal penetration, to feel alive.

"Pain is a part of it. It's a part of life and a part of death, and when we have children one day, there will be pain involved in that, too. You can't always protect me, Ron."

His eyes widened slightly—she guessed in response to her mention of children. "You—you want kids with me?" he whispered, apparently frozen by the idea.

"Well, yes…one day," she replied, faltering somewhat, fearing she'd said the wrong thing. She realized then that she'd only made the assumption that he wanted children, and with her, and that they would one day end up married. How supremely naïve she must seem—

Abruptly, Ron drove into her, all the way to the hilt as his lips crashed down on hers, positively consuming her. In one brutal thrust, Hermione knew pain and completion and passion and exuberance and pure, animalistic ecstasy as Ron's hips slammed against hers repeatedly, penetrating her, making love to her, no holds barred, just as she'd asked. Her legs locked around his waist of their own accord, her hands absently exploring the dips and plains of his smooth back and chest as she reveled in the sensation overload, overwhelmed by him, of the intensity of the feelings she had for him—by the unequivocal love she felt for him.

" _Fuck,_ Hermione," he groaned as she felt him begin to tense up after several minutes, his entire body trembling. "You feel too fucking good… Not gonna last, sweetheart…"

"It's okay, Ron," she murmured encouragingly, tightening her legs around him intuitively. "I—I want you to…come in me." Her face burned hotly at her own bold but honest statement. "Give it all to me, Ron… _please_ …"

His arms, braced on either side of her head, began quaking as his hips plunged erratically in apparent response to her words; in the next instant, his hips gave a shuddering lurch against her, and he released inside her so violently that he let out a roar of pleasure that was more animalistic than human as she felt him pulsing into her womb: " _FUU-UUUCK_ …uuuuhn…Er-my-nee, love you so  _FUCKING_  much— _guhhh_ …so fucking amazing…" His climax seemed to go on and on and on, a string of nonsensical syllables coupled with curses and fractions of her name streaming from his lips as his eyes rolled back in his head.

The expression of utter ecstasy on Ron's face as he completed inside her for the very first time was irrefutably the most beautiful sight that Hermione had ever seen.

After his pulsing and shuddering had ended, and he'd collapsed in exhaustion and satiation, he gathered her against himself, kissing her repeatedly as her fingers raked through his sweat-dampened hair. Several moments later, when his labored breathing had calmed somewhat, he reached over and grabbed a wand—she wasn't sure if it was his or hers—from her nightstand, knocking over her bedside lamp in the process.

He cursed, hastily repairing the shattered porcelain as Hermione giggled.

"Seems I made a mess of you, too," he muttered with a slightly embarrassed grin when the lamp was repaired (poorly). His ears were bright crimson as he scooted down her body and parted her thighs, cleaning her up with a muttered word. "Are you sore, love?"

"A little, but it doesn't matter. I love you. It doesn't matter."

"Like hell," he murmured as he took the wand tip and lazily traced the tender lips of her sex, mumbling under his breath, and Hermione gasped at the warm sensation that soothed her like a healing balm. "Better?" he asked, a look of smug self-satisfaction on those features that she loved so much.

"Brilliant. Better than the lamp, anyway," she added, unable to resist teasing him. "Where did you learn that?"

"You left a book on medicinal spells and potions in my room. I've been reading up on 'em."

"You have?"

He chuckled lowly at that. "Always the tone of surprise," he murmured as he dipped his head down, and she felt his lips against the most intimate part of her anatomy, placing a chaste kiss there, which had her body stirring in renewed passion. "Figured it wouldn't hurt an Auror to know some of that stuff, y'know, since Harry and I are starting our training in a couple of months."

"That's very proactive of you, Ron," she said approvingly, focusing on the conversation at hand. "I'm proud of you."

He grinned up at her mischievously as he then pressed his lips to her right hip bone, singeing her with the tip of his tongue and inflaming her with lust, a reminder of the fact that her body was as-yet unsatisfied. "Yeah, well, you won't be there to let me copy your homework, so…"

"I  _knew_  that you possessed the brain capacity to do your own work, with the proper incentive. I mean, why would you do the work yourself when you had someone willing to do it  _for_  you? I haven't decided if that was manipulation on your part, laziness, or merely resourcefulness. Whatever the case, you should have been sorted into Slytherin, Ron Weasley."

"There's no need to be insulting, Hermione," he replied, placing a kiss to her left hipbone, and she got the impression that he was taking perverse pleasure in driving her half-delirious with wanting. "Slytherins may be lazy and manipulative, but resourceful? I doubt it. So…you wanna have my babies," he added, a wide, goofy grin spreading slowly across his features, and then he pressed his lips to her lower stomach, right over her womb. "Did you mean now? 'Cause I've definitely got the proper incentive for  _that_. How many goes d'ya reckon it'll take?"

"No, I most assuredly didn't mean  _now_ ," she replied with a playful role of her eyes, even as the idea of being impregnated by Ron strangely warmed her from the inside out. Likewise, it was obvious that the thought of impregnating her was an immense turn-on to him as well.

His expression became serious in the next moment as something of vital importance evidently occurred to him for the first time: "What about…I mean, what we just…?"

"It's taken care of," she reassured him quickly, understanding his concern.

"Oh. All right. Good. So you've been planning this little seduction for a while, then?"

"As you're well aware, Ron, I'm nothing if not prepared."

"As if I need a reminder of that fact from the girl who carries around a tent and a mobile library in her handbag," he retorted with a snort. "That's not an answer, by the way, but I'll take it as a 'yes' anyway."

She laughed at that, feeling liberated and emboldened. "Take it however you'd like, as long as you keep  _giving_ it to me how  _I_  like."

"Bossy even in the bedroom," he murmured in amusement, even as he licked his lips, his eyes growing dark in renewed lust. "Which reminds me—I owe you one, or two, or ten…"

Conversation was lost after that, as he slid back down her belly and began lazily circling her clitoris, first with his index finger and then with his tongue, and, languidly, torturously, Ron brought Hermione, shuddering and mewling and panting, to not one, not two, but three or four consecutive orgasms.

By the time he slid back up her body, settling in position between her thighs once more, rearing to go again as his length prodded insistently and enticingly against her inner thigh, the steady pattering of rain on the window had ceased. The sun had made a tentative, hopeful appearance in the late afternoon sky, and, as Hermione kissed Ron, wordlessly urging him to roll off of her so that she could straddle him, she realized that she didn't feel guilty about the beautiful reprieve she'd found with him, of the pleasure, comfort, and, yes,  _love_ , that they'd given one another.

She didn't regret the loss of her virginity. Not one bloody bit.

oOo

Ginny Weasley was sitting exactly as he'd left her, in the very center of the drawing room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, comparing paint samples. She was on the floor, cross-legged, her long red hair hanging in smooth curtains over either slender shoulder. The room had been cleared of all the old moth-eaten velvet sofas, the walls stripped of the gaudy, molding silk that had adorned the Black family home.

The renovations had begun two weeks ago—the day following the funerals of Fred, Remus, Tonks, and Snape, in fact. Harry had insisted on doing it strictly by manual labor, which would serve to keep him well occupied until his Auror training was scheduled to begin.

"Harry," Ginny said upon his reappearance, her liquid-brown eyes wide in her lovely face as she looked up from her paint samples. "Did you catch them before they left?"

"Oh, I caught them, all right," he confirmed, thinking that he wished he  _hadn't._

Several minutes previously, Harry Potter had wandered past the bedroom he'd given Ron, which now contained all of his possessions from the Burrow—he'd officially moved in last week—including the shocking orange Chudley Cannons bedspread that Hermione kept trying to convince him to toss, and Harry had happened to notice his friend's broomstick propped against the bureau. Sure that Ron had intended to take it with him, he'd gotten it in his head that he would Apparate on over to Hermione's parents' home to see if he could catch them before they left for Australia.

Not really thinking about what he was doing and eager to get back to Ginny and his work, he'd made the mistake of Apparating directly outside Hermione's open bedroom door, rather than on the front porch like a common, courteous wizard.

And what an oversight  _that_ had been.

Upon seeing his best mate's pale, naked arse as his hips jack-hammered into the moaning girl who was, for all intents and purposes, Harry's sister, his first instinctive reaction had been a fierce, protective urge to cross the room and yank Ron up off of Hermione by his ginger head.

However, sanity and reason had returned in the next instant, as some of the initial shock had worn off, and he'd hastily but quietly retreated down the hall, placed the broomstick on the top stair, and Disapparated (hopefully) out of earshot as Ron began to bellow.

In truth, he was absurdly pleased that his best friends had finally found comfort in one another, and considering that Harry was dating Ron's  _actual, biological_ sister, he reckoned he didn't have any room to feel anything but happiness for the couple.

 _Right._ He would work on the feeling-happy part just as soon as he got the mental image of his best mates shagging like garden gnomes in the springtime out of his head.

And put up a permanent Silencing Charm around Ron's bedroom. Going by his friend's rather…enthusiastic bellows, Harry was going to need it.

"What is it?" Ginny asked him, smiling in evident response to the expression on his face.

"Nothing," Harry replied as he walked forward, leaning down to pull her up off the floor, and she allowed him to gather her to himself, her arms winding around his neck. "I just…I love you, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do, Harry," she said fiercely, leaning back slightly to meet his gaze. "I love you, too." She paused for a moment. "Mum worries about you, you know," she said suddenly.

"Your mum worries about us all. She should spend more time worrying about herself." He didn't have to add that Molly Weasley had buried a son two short weeks ago.

Ginny bit her lower lip, and Harry immediately regretted the implication in his words: She had taken Fred's death hard, possibly even harder than George had. As usual, though, Ginny was tough. She forced back the tears that had begun to form in her eyes and said, "Yeah, but she worries about how you 'isolate' yourself, is the way she put it."

"I'm hardly isolated," he replied with a dismissive grin. "You're here every day, and Ron's here now, too, and because  _he's_ here, Hermione's here. Not to mention the stream of random visitors I get every day, sometimes  _all_  day. You know how hard it is to get any work done when I constantly have to entertain guests?"

Her smile widened at his teasing words: "I hardly think my brother and Hermione need  _you_  to entertain them."

 _You have no idea,_ he thought. Or maybe she did. Was it possible that this wasn't a new development, that he'd somehow merely been clueless to this change in his friends' relationship, and they'd been shagging all over his house all week and Harry somehow hadn't noticed?

He decided he really didn't care to know the answer to that question.

" _I_ know that you've got plenty of company," Ginny was saying, "but if you listen to Mum, you'd think you were a regular hermit. I think her feelings are just hurt because you don't come to dinner more often. She says that the Muggle takeout you live off of isn't fit for a dementor."

His attention was fully captured by her words: He never wanted to hurt Mrs. Weasley's feelings. She was the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother, and he would never forget that she'd once said that he was practically one of her sons. "Okay, I'll go to dinner tonight," Harry said quickly, but then his grin turned wicked: "After we properly test the new kitchen table, that is."

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, I'm not going to defend my decision to write Ron as having lost his virginity to Lavender. We're all entitled to our opinions (and I don't necessarily believe that he did, just that there's a good possibility), and believe me, I've heard all the arguments against it - and I have ZERO desire to debate the issue. I promise that you'll just be wasting your time/energy trying to convince me of his saintliness, so you might as well save your breath. ;)
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for status updates & more on all my writings: Kari_FicFanatic
> 
> and tumblr: musingsofaficfanatic . tumblr . com
> 
> -Kari


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